Voldemort's Bad Day
by Diresquirrel
Summary: Voldemort is having a bad day. A very bad day.


**Voldemort's Bad Day**

* * *

Tom M. Riddle, AKA Voldemort AKA You-Know-Who AKA the Dark Lord was having a bad day. He'd been planning the attack on Hogwarts for months and he'd planned for today to be the day. Getting up from his stately room, he'd gone down to the village for a little bit of the ole Ultra Violence. Normally he only had to Crucio one muggle and they all screamed like they'd been hit. This time was different as the Dark Lord chose the only muggle in the entire town with a medical condition that prevented him from feeling pain.

With this in mind, the muggle stood there confused, but otherwise unharmed as the strangely dressed fellow jabbed his carved stick in the muggle's general direction.

"Old woman, why are you not in pain?" Voldemort demanded in confusion. This was, after all, the second time an Unforgivable had less than the desired effect for the Dark Lord, which was a bit troubling, as one might imagine.

"Man!" the muggle stated flatly.

"Man! Woman, matters not-"

"And I'm not old, I'm only thirty-four," the muggle protested.

"I don't care how bloody old you-" Voldemort snarled only to be cut off a second time.

"Oi mate, wot's wit' the 'Alloween mask?" the muggle inquired as he took in the dread Dark Lord's ophidian visage.

"_Crucio_," intoned the Dark Lord once more, but the result was much the same, with the muggle looking upon the most feared wizard of the second half of the 20th century as if said wizard was simply an insane fool in a Halloween mask and wielding a stick.

"Why are you not writhing in pain?" Voldemort demanded angrily.

"In pain? Why'd I do a thing loik that?" the muggle inquired.

"_CRUCIO_!" Voldemort snarled.

"Is that some kind o' elitist slogan? Tryin' to put the 'onest man down?" the muggle turned to his buddy in the next garden. "Oi! You 'ear that? He's tryin' to oppress me!"

"Of course I'm trying to oppress you!" Voldemort snarled. "I'm the Dark Lord!"

"Lord? Of course! Got where you are by exploitin' the common man," the muggle said knowingly. "Waving your titles around like they mean somethin'. I do me job, and I do it well and then I have some loonies inna 'alloween mask jabbin' a stick in me face."

"Bloody muggle!"

"Oh! You 'ear that?" the muggle said to his friend.

And that was when Voldmort lost his temper and burned the entire town to the ground.

As the day progressed, it only got worse.

He'd spent a handful of hours explaining the attack to his lieutenants. Considering his Inner Circle included Crabbe and Goyle, he'd been forced to explain the plan in very small words with plenty of repetition. To say that it was stressful would have been a quote that qualified for the Understatement Hall of Fame.

He'd just finished when that blasted, useless spawn of Lucius opened a box of candies.

"Argument Acid Drops?" Voldemort inquired quietly with an incredulous look.

"What of it?" demanded the useless spawn after popping one of them in his mouth. "You trying to make something about my candies?"

"Are you arguing with me?" the Dark Lord asked, honestly surprised by the loss of diffidence and fear the boy had radiated like an aura until the moment before.

"Of course it's an argument!"

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is," the Malfoy spawn countered.

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't!" Voldemort said once more. He promptly cut the boy off as the spawn opened his mouth to counter the statement. "And if you continue to argue, I shall spend a good half hour enjoying your screams of pain and madness."

"I-"

Narcissa slipped in, covered the spawn's mouth and dragged the useless child out of the room even as it spouted contrary statements.

The loss of good ole torturing fun was a bit of a disappointment for the Dark Lord, but he had other fish to fry. He turned back to his best girl who had popped a candy from the box into her mouth as his back was turned.

"Sod off you snake skinned, lily livered, yellow bellied, skum sucking, skrewt fornicator," Bellatrix stated to her master.

"Another Argument Acid drop?"

"Oh no," Bellatrix said. "This one's abuse."

Voldemort sighed and refrained from torturing his best Death Eater. He turned back to the map of Hogwarts on the table just as Bellatrix opened her mouth once more.

"Stupid git."

Well, all the self help books said it was important to let the stressful parts pass, to bottle them up for later. Mind these were Wizarding self-help books, (from the same ghost writers as a certain Mr. Lockhart), so any advice had to be taken with a grain of salt. Voldemort bottled up his problems and pushed forward. It was, after all, time to rally the troops.

"Tonight we finish everything! It is the end of our opposition! The beginning of my reign!" Voldemort said, grinning as the cheers rose from the throngs of his masked followers. "Today Hogwarts! Tomorrow the world! We'll cleanse the earth! Not just keep them out, but erase the muggle problem for all time!"

Cheers again. Voldemort positively shivered in their adulation.

"After all, what have muggles ever given us?" he said. That was apparently not the right thing to ask as instead of cheers, a hush fell over the crowd as they pondered their master's query. After a while Mulciber raised his hand.

"Paved streets?" he asked.

"What?" Voldemort asked.

"Paved streets," Mulciber repeated. "My grandpappy used to tell of the mud all over the place. Muggles made them, paved streets I mean."

"Okay, fine," Voldemort said. "But aside from paved streets, what have the muggles ever given us?"

"And the camera," Crabbe Sr. pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," Bellatrix said. "Used to take a whole long for paintings to finish. Why Aunt Walburga had to sit for hours and hours for her portrait. Not too long with photography."

"And the wireless," someone else pointed out.

"And the Hogwarts Express!"

"Alright fine!" Voldemort snapped. "Aside from the paved streets, photography, the wireless, and the Hogwarts Express, what have muggles ever given us?"

"And the wine," came a voice from the back of the group.

"Well, of course the wine," Lucius snapped. "That goes without saying!"

He was finally at Hogwart facing down the brat that had caused him so much trouble for so long. Everything that had gone wrong was because of the boy. And now, after a very bad day, Voldemort was going to kill the brat and it was going to feel soooooo good.

He threw out a killing curse and WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE HIT ME WITH A DISARMING HEX? HOW DID HE HIT ME WITH A MERLIN BEDAMNED SHIT COCK ARSE PISS FUCKING DISARMING HEX? POTTER!

He woke up to find himself on a train.

"What the bleeding hell am I doing here?" he asked aloud.

"Well, you're dead Tom," a familiar voice said. The self styled Lord Voldemort turned around to see Albus Dumbledore.

"No I'm not," Voldemort said testily. "At worst I'm resting. Must have been an emergency portkey or something."

"Look Tom, I know a dead man when I see one, and I'm looking at one right _now_," Dumbledore said, looking down from over his halfmoon glasses at the newcomer.

"No, no, I'm just resting, a temporary holding spot until my followers can bring me back using one of my horcruxes," Voldemort protested.

"Horcrux, Tom?" Dumbledore asked incredulously.

"Yes, horcrux!" the dark lord snapped. "Beautiful magic."

"The horcrux don't enter into it," Dumbledore explained as if he were speaking to a very young child. "You're stone dead."

"No, I'm not! I'm just resting, talking to your portrait that's plastered on one of those lifesized cardboard cutouts that were so popular," Voldemort replied, grasping at possibilities that vaguely resembled a supporting argument.

"Okay, then if you're still alive, then what's Severus doing here?" Dumbledore asked, nodding to Snape who was reading "Potions Monthly Broadsheet" on the next seat.

"Well, he's a ghost,"

"A ghost?" Snape asked incredulously, flipping down the top of the paper so he could look over it. "Damn it man, you didn't kill me anywhere near the train, so why in Hell's name would I be haunting it?"

"You're not haunting it, you're haunting me!" Voldemort replied pointing to his own chest.

"And if you were still alive I wouldn't be able to touch you," Albus said, pulling out a dead parrot in the throws of rigor mortis and proceeded to bludgeon his former student over the head with said avian. He turned to look to Snape and nodded. "Now, that's what I call a dead person."

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his chin out obstinately.

"I'm not dead, my body is probably just pining for my soul to go back and I'll start my uncontested rule in just a few minutes," Voldemort replied.

"It's not pining, it's passed on!" Dumbledore said with a bit of a screech to his voice from aggravation. He shoved a fore finger at Voldemort's chest and took a step forward. "This wizard is no more! You have ceased to be! You've expired and gone to meet Merlin! You're a stiff! Bereft of life, you rest in peace! Your body isn't pining for its soul, it's pushing up the daisies! Your metabolic processes are now history! You're off the twig! You've kicked the bucket, you've shuffled off the mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!"

"YOU ARE AN EX-WIZARD!"

Well, Tom had a bit of trouble trying to protest a rant like that.

"So, it's time for you to go," Albus explained after he regained his composure. "Car number 4. There's a surprise waiting for you."

With nothing else left for him, Voldemort walked to Car number 4. When he opened the door, hands reached out and pulled him in roughly. Standing over him was a grinning Lily Potter.

A grinning Lily Potter holding a beater's bat.

This part was particularly strange because nothing he'd ever heard said that she played or even enjoyed watching Quidditch.

"_Some things in life are bad_," Lily sang as she slapped the end of the beater bat in her palm. "_They can really make you mad_."

She pulled the bat back and went in for a swing, eliciting a sharp snap as bat hit kneecap, knocking Voldemort's legs out from under him. "_Other things just make you hex and curse_."

James Potter reached over and picked up Voldemort by the arms and sang: "_When you're chewing on life's gristle, Don't grumble, give a whistle..._"

And Sirius Black and Remus, their werewolf friend, and that purple haired woman pulled out their own beater bats and started to sing along with the Potters: "_And this'll help things turn out for the best..."_

Voldemort looked up and realized that the Potters and friends were just the first in a very long line of people singing. Each and every one of them was someone he had been directly or indirectly responsible for their deaths, most often at his wand or that of his followers. Myrtle grinned like a starving Hungarian Horntail as she went in for a swing right to the abs.

_And...always look on the bright side of death...  
Always look on the light side of death... _

_If death seems jolly rotten  
There's something you've forgotten  
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.  
When you're feeling in the dumps  
Don't be silly chumps  
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing._

_And...always look on the bright side of death...  
Always look on the light side of death... _

Blearily, Tom Riddle, AKA Voldemort looked up and realized they'd only made through five people and he couldn't even see the end of the line. And then Lily cut in line for another turn.

That was when he had the sinking suspicion that they weren't singing the oddly happy song for him, but for themselves.

This was going to be a LOOOONG train ride.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **It should be noted that I do not claim to own Harry Potter, nor any of the ideas and skits I've blatantly ripped off from Monty Python. I fully admit that I have not used them with permission and hopefully this fic hasn't become far too silly._


End file.
